


Who Are We?

by SardonicManOfLetters



Series: Who Are We? [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood & Gore, Blood & Injury, Bonding, Brotherhood, Everything bound to change, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, It's a shit storm, M/M, Mystery, Other werewolves will be reveal throughout the story, Semi-Slow Burn, Welcome, Werewolf Jughead, Werewolves, season one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 12:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20097514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SardonicManOfLetters/pseuds/SardonicManOfLetters
Summary: The summer before everything happened. The summer where Archie ditched Jughead. Where they pushed each other away. Everything fell through the cracks and anything that was left behind rotted and burned; tainted. But the secrets of Riverdale are pushing, the Town with Pep bursting at the seams, it can't be contained any longer. When it all rips open with the distant bang of a gunshot Jughead's secrets will come snarling forth too.(Summary bound to change)





	Who Are We?

**Author's Note:**

> Posting out of excitement. Please wait for tags and everything to be updated and polished.

_What if things are a lot different than we want them to be? What if, instead of the nice family next door we had the grotesque house of horrors in a trailer park filled to the brim with death and blood that forced itself down the throats and into the lungs of monsters. What if there was more to every story? What if.. this wasn’t a what if?_

Jughead looked down at the short paragraph he’d just written, dull stormy eyes reflecting the light of his computer screen and the text document he had open. Next to that tab was his novel on the murder of Jason Blossom. He hit Ctrl A and deleted the few words he’d written, shutting his laptop quickly and picking up the mug of hot black coffee Pop had left him to his right. Pop knew everyone’s order, everyone’s preferences, and the old man was especially friendly with his daily regulars such as Jughead. Glancing at his laptop Jughead scoffed and nursed his coffee. Sometimes looking at his work left him with this gigantic abyss in his chest that made him feel sick, leaving him with nothing but the feelings of despair and worthlessness. Taking a large gulp of the steaming brew, feeling the hot liquid slide across his tongue and disappear down his throat where it attempted to warm his stomach, Jughead realized one of those times was now. He could feel the emptiness trying to swallow him whole from the inside out and tried to drown it out with another chug of coffee. The brief spark of warmth the drink sent rippling out from his stomach was enough to make him feel human, if only for a moment, and not like the disastrous, morose, pervicacious monster he was.

It was no surprise that Jughead hated who he was, he was a mess. He was different, and weird, and raised on the wrong side of the tracks. The very few people who wanted anything to do with him seemed more interested in each other than in him. He didn’t have a problem with that, he’d much rather spend his time on his own; Brooding or moping or writing. The problem was the two people he trusted didn’t know anything about him. Nothing that mattered at least. They didn’t know because Jughead, as absolutely pathetic as it was, was afraid to tell them. Afraid of the reactions, afraid of losing what little he had again, and above all afraid of the truth. 

The truth. 

What was the truth? Jughead leaned back against the plastic red cushions of his booth, eyebrows furrowed in thought, and continued to sip at his coffee in hopes that maybe the warmth it brought would stay. The truth is rarely ever what you tell yourself, but Jughead was positive that how he saw himself was the opinion of the majority of the human race… but is it possible he could be wrong? At least when it came to his friends, who had already accepted so much about him that would send most people running for the hills. Jughead couldn’t put it past himself that he’d let his self-deprecating nature win and drill the worst case scenario into his head.

Jughead put his cup down and opened his laptop again, tapping the space bar and watching the screen come to life. He typed in his password, fingers flying as he watched the screen. His icon was a picture he’d taken of the graffiti he’d left at the Drive-In and the lock screen background a picture of Archie, Betty, Veronica and himself through the window of Pop’s. The lock screen faded away and he came face to face with the document he’d just cleared mere minutes earlier. He moved his mouse up to the blue undo arrow up in the top left, took a deep breath, and recovered the paragraph. His hands hovered over the keyboard for a second, fingers resting gently on the keys they’d come to naturally hang over. That second turning into a minute, which then turned to five minutes, time suspended over his head like the swaying light bulb in a dimly lit janitorial closet in a horror film. He took another breath, his chest rising with the large intake of air and falling quick when he huffed out a tense breath. 

He began typing. 

What if the monsters are lying to themselves? What if it’s because of the label “monster” that the monsters beat themselves down. The monsters could be nothing more than teenage boys, looking to make it through high school and praying to eventually get out the town that’s shaped them into who they are. What if the house of horrors is actually just a trailer on the wrong side of the tracks, and the blood and death in which they all drown is actually just expectations and hatred? 

What if what’s more to the story hasn’t been written yet? 

Jughead stared at his screen, at the words he’d just written, and somehow the black hole in his stomach grew. 

Archie trudged through the woods, flashlight in hand, trying to see through the creeping shadows and onslaught of rain. The mud and leaves were slippery beneath his sneaker clad feet, his Letterman Jacket soaked and his red hair hanging low over his eyes. “Vegas!” He called loudly trying to be heard over the storm, hoping to find his dog who had bolted earlier at the sound of roaring thunder in the night. His father was out somewhere as well, driving the beaten, old family truck around the small town of Riverdale while searching for their dog, but Archie was certain he’d seen Vegas run into the woods earlier. 

No luck so far, but he was optimistic that he’d find Vegas if he just kept looking. He was lucky to have a white dog, knowing Vegas’ coat would stand out against the dark brown of the ground and the forest green foliage. “Vegas!” He shouted, lifting his free arm to shield his eyes from the heavy rainfall as he scanned the terrain around him. “C’mon buddy.” He muttered to himself, eyes flicking from bush to bush in search of his dog. Of course, nothing, that would be far too lucky. Archie was certain he’d been looking for a little over thirty minutes with nothing but a possible glimpse of Vegas. With a heaving sigh, Archie turned around to head back towards the roads hoping that Vegas was safe and would find his way home unharmed. Archie himself was unsure of where he was in the woods, but knew the general direction of town and that was all he needed to find his way home. 

Jughead finished off his coffee with a gulp, tipping his head back and swallowing thickly before placing his mug back on the table. Now that his existential crisis was relatively over he figured it was time to pack up and head back towards the Andrews’ home where he was staying for the time being. It was only his first week staying with the Andrews and Jughead was almost certain he’d already missed Fred’s designated curfew. He shut down his laptop, closing it softly before sliding it off the table and tucking it into his worn satchel. A glance out the window framing the wall of his booth forced Jughead to realize it was pouring outside, and sadly he wasn’t sure his satchel alone would protect the precious technology it held. A frown formed on his face, forehead creasing in concentration as his brain churned for a solution. His fingers tapped against the forever stained table top in a pointless rhythm, Jughead constantly fiddling when he racked his brain for an answer. It only took a moment before he was shrugging off his jean jacket, tossing it over his bag and tying the arms of his coat around the bottom of the olive colored satchel. The jacket was thick and would do a better job of protecting Jughead’s computer than the bag itself would. Nodding at his handy work he stood, grabbing his bag by the strap and pulling it over his head so the belt would rest across his chest. His dark blue flannel and light t-shirt should be enough to maintain some semblance of warmth while Jughead walked back to the Andrews’. Maybe. His computer was more important anyway, if he got sick he had an excuse to stay in and work on his material. 

Jughead walked up to the counter, pulled a crumpled five from his back pocket and held it out to the old man behind the register. Pop gave him a warm smile, pushing Jughead’s hand away and assuring Jughead it was on the house. Sending the man a confused and suspicious look, Jughead adjusted his hat and placed the money on the counter in lieu of placing it in Pop’s hand. Pop chuckled, seeing it was a losing battle, and swept up the bill, “Be safe out there alright?” He said while sending Jughead another smile while he opened the cash register and stashed away the crinkled cash, not even bothering to attempt and smooth it out. Jughead nodded his goodbye to the diner owner and pushed the doors open, stepping out into the rain and beginning the long walk back to the Andrews household. 

It took mere minutes for Jughead to find himself soaked to the bone but his satchel seemed to be faring well, thank god. If Jughead lost anything on that hard drive he was sure he’d either go catatonic or proceed to scream for the next twenty-four hours. Thinking over the options he’d provided himself with Jughead took note that he should probably invest in a flash drive or seven. 

The scent of wet asphalt and nature assaulted Jughead’s nose, the rain was impeding his vision and filling his ears with the sound of water droplets pelting down upon everything from roofs to flesh. His skin was numb from the cold, thick strands of black hair hanging in front of his eyes and dripping water onto his onyx boots. His senses were filled with the storm, and in all honesty, Jughead couldn’t find it in himself to complain. Being overrun by the weather left him to his thoughts, and for him there was always so much to think about, always some mystery to solve. It felt like a clean slate, for all of him to be surrounded in the all-encompassing tempest, washing away the chaos that swarmed around him and just letting him be for once.

But something broke through all the sounds of the storm. Something horrible that grated on Jughead’s very soul and left his ears echoing with a horrid noise; A scream. Without thinking Jughead twisted around, looking towards the edge of the woods peaking out over the top of the buildings lining the edge of Riverdale. His chest was suddenly heaving like he’d just run three miles in ten minutes, his eyes gliding over the tree tops silhouetted by the silver moon’s glow behind them and glancing into the darkened alleys lining every building. Before he knew what he was doing he was bolting, the familiar buildings and cars passing in blurry blobs of dulled color. The rain hit harder, leaving his skin tingling from the tiny stinking slaps. His ears tuned in on the sound as he moved, rushing through narrow alleyways and trying not to trip over himself. Someone was out there, from the sounds of it being hurt, and he didn’t have the time to trip over a garbage bag or forgotten bicycle. He could hear whoever had screamed, he could hear them panting, the sound of them grunting as something else pounced, the growl of a predator attacking. Jughead pushed himself harder, panting with the effort it took to sprint at top speed through the dark and jump over the fallen branches and bushes that seemed so keen on blocking his path.

He knew he was getting closer, the sounds getting louder and louder even to his sensitive ears. He was tuned in on the heavy, rapid beat of the victim’s heart. The smell of blood assaulted his nose even through the dense rain, which could only mean, horrifyingly, there was a lot of it. The metallic scent rested firmly in Jughead’s nostrils, the most sickening feeling sinking serrated needle-like talons into his stomach as he came to a petrifying realization that made him stumble. He clumsily regained his footing and pushed himself to move faster, panic piling itself on top of the large stack of emotions that attacked his mind with sharp teeth and claws. He knew this smell. He knew it from late nights in his treehouse from when he was young, knew it from playing outside with his two best friends, knew it from small wrestling matches and playful brawls that ended unfortunately, He knew this scent from school, from summer, and from adventures and fights that ran deep into the early morning. 

Jughead would recognize the scent of Archie Andrews’ blood anywhere. 

To say Jughead’s heart stopped in that moment would be an understatement. He was certain he’d never run so fast in his entire life, and the painful black hole that seemed to open in his chest and suck in his heart and internal organs leaving him empty was worse than the abyss that usually sat in place of his stomach. Only one thing was on his mind, one word looping in circles over and over like a race car on a never ending track; Archie. 

He pounced through a line of trees, their umber bark scratching at his exposed forearms. The muscles in his calves were burning with an unholy fire that stood out in contrast to the numb chill of his skin and the empty nothingness filling his body. He heard Archie gasp, possibly from hearing the crunch of the leaves beneath Jughead’s own sneakers followed by his sudden appearance or perhaps in pain. Jughead didn’t care either way, the full weight of his body slamming into the creature on top of Archie sending both teenage boy and white furred animal skidding around the dirty, mud-slicked forest floor. The white Beast landed a few yards from Archie. The redhead was clutching a bleeding arm to his chest, teeth marks showing through the ripped yellow sleeve of his Letterman Jacket. His face showed all his surprise, mouth slightly gaping and eyes a little wider than usual. Jughead landed closer to his friend luckily, sliding to a stop and quickly pushing himself back up onto his hands and knees. He ignored the prominent stinging in his palms and knees and the missing weight of his satchel, raising himself up to his haunches.

.Archie’s attacker was a white colored wolf, the Beast’s fur soaked and shaggy and its painfully bright topaz eyes dangerously stared Jughead down. Jughead glared back, unafraid and determined in his own right, the safety of Archie his top priority. The Wolf pulled its lips back in a snarl at the clear challenge, pink gums exposed and fangs soaked in blood dripping strings of thick red-tinged saliva. It barked, spittle flying, and crouched low before ducking its head, showing off a muzzle colored pink with diluted blood from Archie’s arm. “Jug,” Archie’s voice sounded from behind him, strained, desperate, and almost enticing enough for Jughead to turn around and check on his friend but instinctually he knew breaking eye contact with the wolf would make the creature attack faster, seeing a weakness in its prey. “We can’t take this thing, we have to go, maybe we can outrun it.” Archie sounded so confident, probably for Jughead’s sake. The thought made the black hole in his chest open further sending pangs of something akin to phantom pain through his body. Aching, painful. His stomach churned, uncomfortably thick air filling his lungs.

Then the Wolf lifted its head, careful to keep its throat relatively hidden, and snarled, successfully gaining Jughead and Archie’s attention. The smell of its breath, warm and coppery, hit Jughead making him crinkle his nose and grimace. That’s when the Beast pounced. 

Archie’s shocked shout of warning was all the preparation Jughead got before the paws of the animal landed on his shoulders, pushing him back forcefully into the ground with a grunt. The Wolf snapped at Jughead’s face, bits of frothy slobber flying from its open maw and landing on Jughead’s flushed cheeks. Jughead reached up, lightning fast, to grasp the Beast’s neck, pushing to keep its jaws away from his throat. Archie’s constant shouts of both worry and support echoed out over the pouring rain, forcing Jughead to remain aware he wasn’t fighting just to protect himself but to protect Archie as well. 

The Wolf shook its body, forcing its slick pristine fur to slip through Jughead’s fingers and give the Beast another go at his throat. Jughead lifted his leg and kicked one of the Wolf’s hind legs out from underneath it, feeling the canine collapse on top of him before rolling over and pinning the creature beneath him, its belly up. Despite the submissive position the Wolf didn’t give up, using all its paws to their fullest and kicking out against Jughead’s chest while it barked and growled and snapped. He could feel its claws ripping at the thin material of his t-shirt and digging into his stomach leaving behind long shallow trenches. The pain barely registered, the numbing chill of the rain and adrenaline almost blocking out the feeling of claws on skin completely. Jughead reached forward and grabbed the Wolf by the neck again, using his legs to raise himself further over the Beast. He opened his mouth and let loose his own deep, guttural snarl that rumbled within his chest and echoed out around the two battling beings.

The Wolf’s ears flattened but it remained persistent, kicking out once more. Its back paws slammed into Jughead’s stomach, both knocking him back and winding him. The Beast then scrambled to its feet, slipping and clawing at the dirt in search of firm footing. Its vibrant and alert eyes followed Jughead’s every move as the teenager slowly pushed himself up, keeping his body low as he felt a warmth bloom from the center of the black hole in his chest. His fingers curled, digging up dirt as his own dull eyes tracked the Beast. The Wolf stood at a good three and a half feet tall, full grown and larger than a good portion of its species, not to mention its natural inclination to the hunt. Jughead didn’t notice that while studying the creature in front of him his eyesight became sharper, the darkness surrounding everything beyond the trees and around the Wolf’s shoulders lightening significantly to the point where he could see miles away clear as day. The Wolf’s pupils contracted to deadly points, its jaw silently peeling open looking as if it might dislocate if it kept going, revealing all forty-two sharp teeth. Its gaze grew manic, a good few levels beyond panicked as its previously threatening snarls became gurgling, throaty whines and wispy growls. 

Archie had fallen silent behind Jughead, but somehow Jughead was certain the redhead was still watching vigilantly. He raised himself up to a lowered stance, his arms hanging loosely in front of him as he peeled his upper body off the floor and adjusted himself into a proper crouch in front of Archie. He narrowed his eyes dangerously, lips pulling back as he released another raspy, chest shuddering snarl. The Beast shrunk back, its entire front dropping pathetically to the floor as a constant stream of threatening noises poured from Jughead’s throat in warning to the Wolf. Jughead was certain it was giving up, about to run away to its pack or back to its den with its tail between its legs as he watched it cower.

The Wolf shook itself viciously, sending thick droplets of rainwater exploding from its coat before pouncing for Jughead. The instinct to protect itself shone in its eyes, the now murky yellow looking insane in its feral dread. Caught off guard by the sudden attack Jughead raised his arms in front of his head to protect his face and throat from the incoming danger. Instead of tearing into the soft skin of his neck the jaws of the Wolf clamped tightly around Jughead’s forearm. This pain couldn’t be numbed by the rain’s cold, or even all the adrenaline pumping through his body with every pounding beat of his heart. The feeling of at least twenty sharp, deadly weapons ripping through pale, clammy flesh and unleashing spurts of life threatening carmine that ran in rivulets down his arm before collecting in fat drops that fell to the forest floors couldn’t be masked. The cry of pain that ripped itself from his lips as the Wolf tackled him to the floor was cut short by the impact ending his pained shout with a choked grunt. Jughead arched his back off the ground, gasping for air against the excruciating stab of the Wolf’s fangs but then the Beast shook its massive head. Agony pulsed through Jughead’s nerves as it tightened its hold and shook its head again, side to side like Jughead’s arm was nothing more than a juicy chew toy. Jughead screamed, barely noticing the the sound that clawed its way out of his throat, leaving his vocals chords a mess of torn and damaged tissue as he felt his skin tear under the force of the Wolf’s grip. 

Over the sound of Jughead’s own scream was Archie’s. It wasn’t of pain this time but one of absolute soul crushing fear. Jughead didn’t have to imagine the image of Archie being chewed up by a rabid dog in his place, being as that’s the exact situation he came barging in on. The glimpse alone of Archie hurt had set Jughead on the defensive. The smell of his blood had Jughead ready to kill someone, though he was positive he wouldn’t go as far as to commit murder, but hearing Archie sound so scared was almost worse. Jughead knew Archie could handle a good deal of pain, in fact he could say with some certainty that Archie could handle more than Jughead himself. But fear. It was the emotional front that destroyed Archie, sent him spiraling down into the hell that Jughead called his daily life. He hated seeing Archie, the Golden Boy, the optimist, the protective, caring, idiot live in the same painful life that Jughead did. Most of all, he knew what him shredded would do to Archie. 

That and Jughead wasn’t going to die because of a damn mangy mutt. 

He used his free hand to lash out at the Wolf, nails raking across the Beast’s face and snout, vaguely aware of the deep cuts his nails- claws- gouged in the Beast’s skin. The Wolf bit down harder, determined to win against its opponent; Jughead, attempting to steal away its prey. Jughead could feel his chest heaving, his throat burning, his vision dimming around the edges and letting the black shadows creep back into view. He gasped in search for air that didn’t want to come. He was drowning, his lungs filling with water, emotions, and pain. The Beast released it’s grip, it’s snout now covered in the scarlet of Jughead’s blood and the slashes Jughead left behind, its own blood bubbling up from the crudely carved cuts. Its eyes still wild and crazed but seeming all the more victorious as Jughead wheezed beneath its powerful body, choking on oxygen and blood soaking the soil around him. Its ears swiveled forward, no longer pressed against its skull, and it turned its eyes to Archie. Jughead did his best to follow the Beast’s gaze, his head tiredly lulling to the side as his hooded stormy cerulean eyes flicked up to take in Archie’s horrified face. 

The Wolf walked over Jughead, its paws pressing painfully against the wounds on his stomach and chest, stalking towards Archie with long, careful strides. It lowered itself to the floor, circling Archie like he had the ability to fight the same way Jughead had. Archie was frozen however, eyes locked on the injured Jughead and not the danger at hand. Archie Andrews, the damn lovable idiot, wouldn’t fight. Not now. He was too focused. Focused on Jughead. The Beast was preparing to strike, its hind legs tensing as it lowered itself further to the ground. It was going to pounce. Jughead needed to move fast, faster than the Wolf, and he wasn’t sure if he could do that. 

Jughead rolled over with a breathy groan, using his uninjured arm to raise his upper body off the floor before tucking his legs up beneath his torso. His shoes dug deep into the muddy floor, sliding as he adjusted himself for proper footing. The Wolf didn’t bother sparing him another glance, deeming him too injured to worry about interrupting its hunt again. Archie though, his eyes grew wider and he swallowed thickly. “Jug, whatever you’re thinking about doing, don’t.” He said lowly, his dark eyes narrowing in warning at his best friend. Jughead stared at Archie’s face for a long moment, contemplating whether Archie intended to defend himself against the wild animal or not. 

A smirk pulled at his lips, raising a dark, perfectly sculpted eyebrow in his friend’s direction. “When have I been known to listen, Archie,” Jughead teased, tensing and relishing in the feeling of his muscles coiling in preparation, before launching himself at the Wolf. Archie’s shout of disapproval was almost comforting, a way to know that he was remotely okay and still conscious. The Beast jumped to the side with ease, its claws sinking into the ground to keep it steady as Jughead tumbled across the floor. The Wolf rushed at Jughead, its fangs exposed and in search for flesh. Jughead gripped the ground, grasping for a chunk of slick mud as the white-furred mutt approached. It took mere moments for the Wolf to tackle Jughead again, its teeth snapping for the weak flesh of his stomach. It took all of Jughead’s strength to push its neck back with his free, injured hand, his arm trembling from the pain and pressure alike. Using the mud in his hand, Jughead smeared the dirt into the Wolf’s exposed eyes, the grains scratching at the cuts across its face. The Wolf reared back, using its front paws to scratch at its face in desperate attempts to clear its sight. While the Beast was distracted Jughead lunged, kicking out against the Wolf’s side and knocking it over with a satisfying yelp. The Wolf shook its head violently, trying to remove the dirt from its eyes and protect itself. Jughead lashed out again, dragging his nails- claws- across the Beast’s flank and leaving behind deep cuts that began to soak the Wolf’s hide with its own blood. The Beast scrambled back, kicking up mud and splashing in murky puddles. Finally, the Wolf seemed to submit, opening bleary eyes and searching desperately for a proper escape. 

Jughead, feeling the need to proclaim his victory deep in his stomach, sneered at the Wolf and let out a deep, booming growl that reverberated within Jughead’s chest and echoed out through the trees. The noise alone had the Wolf scampering back into the woods, whining with its tail between its legs as it ran off in search of shelter from both Jughead and the rain so it could properly lick its wounds. 

It’s amazing, how fast adrenaline could fade away from your system. Jughead thought as exhaustion started to set in, the pain of the scraps, bruises, claw marks, and bites bursting to the forefront of his mind with a vengeance. He fell to his knees with a groan, his hands splayed out in the dirt in front of him to keep him from falling face first into the mud. He panted and ducked his head, pain clawing at his skin and burning him from the inside out. The excruciating throbbing took over, coiling around his spine and crawling into his mind and muddling his thoughts. 

“Jughead?” Archie called out, or whispered? His voice was so warped, it sounded miles away or like Jughead was being smothered by the blackness swirling in his body. Like the black hole in his chest finally opened up and decided to take him too. “Juggie?” Archie’s voice was even more muted than before, if it was even still Archie who was talking. Jughead became acutely aware of how his arms shook with the effort it took to hold his body up, of the pain that rippled through his entire body like his muscles themselves were made of white hot agony, flaring in his arm and torso. The emptiness he felt filling his body doubled tenfold, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hold himself together while the cold abyss grew in his stomach. His fingers curled around the dirt beneath his hands, clenching tightly and forcing his claws to dig into the soft exposed flesh of his palms. He gritted his teeth and tried to gasp in air past his clenched jaw. 

Then there were hands, trailing lightly down his back and hovering over his trembling shoulders. He jerked, startling away from the sudden touch as pain wrapped around his sides and mutilated arm like vines, tightening and strangling and suffocating. A growl ripped itself from his throat, a warning to whatever came near as he glared at the floor. He didn’t like being touched, he didn’t know who this was or what they wanted and he was hurt. Instinct told him to protect himself, to lash out and cause damage but he held himself back cause Archie was here, wasn’t he? The hands returned, Jughead opening his mouth and snarling. Trails of saliva wrapped around his long, sharp canines and dripped to the floor in long slimy beads, he hadn’t realized how sharp his teeth had become. 

“Jughead,” That was Archie. Right beside him, the smell of his blood and his natural scent suddenly assaulting Jughead’s nose even through the rain and his own blood. When had Archie gotten so close? When had his mind gotten so foggy? “It’s okay, calm down, c’mon buddy…” Archie trailed off, his voice shaking. Jughead could hear the redhead’s heart beating rapidly, the constant pounding of their hearts out of sync louder than the pouring rain still coming down and pelting the two teenagers. It was overpowering, filling his ears and making pangs of pain pulse through his body with each rapid beat of both of their hearts. His chest heaved with gasping pants for breath, trying to fill his overworked lungs. The last of his adrenaline was quickly fading away, his eyes heavily drooping with the combined efforts of exhaustion and hurt. Tiredly Jughead turned his head towards Archie, vision fuzzy and the familiar face of the redhead beside him blurred and shadowed. I did it, He thought proudly, the cold nothingness that filled his entire being falling away to a warming contentment, I kept jock Archie Andrews safe. A soft scoff gently breezed past parted lips. Can’t wait to brag about it later.

Archie felt himself trembling, his hands uselessly hovering over Jughead’s shaking shoulders as his best friend stared at him with distantly familiar hooded eyes. A soft glow emanated from Jughead’s usually dim misty gray irises, making them a vibrant azure that lit up his dirty features. Past Jughead’s parted lips Archie saw fangs, his top and bottom cuspids lengthened into deadly canines that glistened with fresh layers of spit. Jughead’s eyes- his glowing eyes- were foggy and unfocused, his chest shuddering with each sharp intake and wheezing exhale. Archie didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to handle the situation the world had so graciously bestowed upon him. This was more than he’d ever expected to be faced with. He was just a kid trying to make it through High School. “Juggie,” Archie tried softly, more a man of action than a man of words. He didn’t have time to think about Jughead’s sudden change in appearance, or the fact that his best friend had just battled it out with a wolf and won. They were both loosing blood, the crimson dripping from Archie’s own torn arm mixing with the earth already saturated with the red from the Beast and Jughead. 

Jughead’s eyes flicked up to Archie’s face, blinking rapidly in what Archie assumed was an attempt to clear his vision. For a moment they just stared at each other, cognac eyes locked with cerulean in a staring match that froze time. “You okay?” Jughead huffed, slowly shifting his body into a loose kneeling position. Archie could now clearly see the scratches littering Jughead’s stomach through the torn material of his thin t-shirt, small blots of blood bubbling up from the deeper lacerations. Jughead bent forward, grimacing as his movements pulled at his wounds. He sniffed before raising his arm and wiping at his nose with his wrist. It was such a familiar motion in this foreign situation, Archie almost wanted to scream at him. 

“Am I okay?” Archie asked in disbelief, gesturing vaguely at the entirety of Jughead and cocking his head to the side. “What kind of question is that while you’re literally bleeding out in front of me?” Jughead just smiled at him, his fangs glinting. Archie sighed, doing his best to shove the thoughts of Jughead’s new appearance to the back of his mind, shuffled towards Jughead on his knees. Jughead watched him suspiciously, raising an eyebrow at Archie in mocking question. Though when Archie opened his arms as an invitation Jughead didn’t hesitate to fall against Archie’s chest, forehead resting on Archie’s broad shoulder as they shivered together. 

“We’re gonna have to talk,” Jughead said into Archie’s jacket, the warmth of his breath heating the fabric. Archie huffed out a laugh, amazed at out much of an understatement one sentence could be. Jughead awkwardly kneed him in the thigh, “I’m serious.” He scolded. 

“I know. If you said we didn’t need to talk then I wouldn’t believe you.” Archie joked in turn, pushing Jughead off of him slowly before carefully prying himself off the ground and to his feet. Jughead watched silently, eyes drooping further as he fought to stay conscious. Archie hoped he was just tired. He let Jughead sway sleepily for a moment, knowing the guy had to be exhausted. He felt bad asking anything of him. Archie gently palmed Jughead’s shoulder, getting his attention again before offering his friend a hand. Jughead took it without question, his lack of snarky remark weighing on Archie’s shoulders more than he’d like it to. He began to pull Jughead’s uninjured arm across his shoulders when his friend pulled back, turned to face the clearing they’d been in for who knows how long. “Dude, what’re you-” 

“I lost my bag,” Jughead answers before Archie can even fully ask his question. Archie watched as Jughead’s eyes swept over the forest floor, searching for his lost possession and leaving Archie feeling somewhat useless. He couldn’t see the sticks on the ground through the rain and shadows let alone a bag slathered in muck. It wasn’t long before Jughead was moving, carefully walking over to where Archie assumed his bag was. The dark figure that had become Jughead leaned down, grabbed what was presumably his bag, stood up and shuffled right back over. Archie’s breath caught in his throat, seeing Jughead’s glowing eyes breaking through the dark walking towards him but he didn’t budge, instead waiting for Jughead to appear back at his side. He didn’t want to seem afraid, knowing his friend wouldn’t appreciate it. When Jughead became more visible Archie noted the satchel strap slung over his shoulder and the dirty jacket wrapped around the bag and offered his hand to Jughead again. Once more Jughead grasped Archie’s hand without hesitation, this time allowing Archie to shoulder most of his weight. “Where’re we going?” Jughead asked softly, beginning the trudge out of the woods pressed against Archie’s side. 

Archie helped Jughead up a small incline with ease, wincing when Jughead stumbled over his own feet and barely keeping them both upright. He brushed off Jughead’s mumbled apology with a small smile before finally giving his well thought over answer, “My house. We have a pretty well stocked first aid kit.” Jughead tensed and Archie waited patiently for a snarky protest to shoot from Jughead’s mouth in response. 

“Oh yeah, football will get you.” Jughead shot back with a roll of his eyes, using Archie as a crutch to push himself over the stump of a long dead tree. Archie tugged on Jughead’s arm in a playful show of offense, though he was glad to hear Jughead making snide remarks. Jughead staggered, free arm flailing momentary before he found his footing and glared at Archie. “I lied, it’s the football players that you have to watch out for.” He hissed, though Archie could clearly read the amusement in the upward twitch of his lips. 

“Oh yeah, we’re deadly.” Archie warned, his smile brightening when Jughead gave him his own small smirk. Jughead rolled his eyes, though the half-smile remained on his face as he turned away. 

“What?” Jughead huffed defensively, clumsily elbowing Archie in the side. Archie laughed, having Jughead by his side somehow made the entire dreadful experience better, though no less terrifying. Jughead gave him and weird look and fondly shook his head while muttering about hanging out with insane redheads. Jughead always made things easier, no matter how pessimistic or rude he was. He had a calming effect, at least he did when they were getting along. They traveled in relative silence, focusing on not tripping over large rocks and trees roots while enjoying the company of each other. When the treeline came into view a good few meters away, the orange glow of dim streetlights breaking through the branches, they shared a relieved look and made for the street.

They broke through the tree trunks and bushes, mud clinging to their pant legs and sneakers leaving footprints on the wet asphalt of the road as they traveled over to the soaked concrete of the sidewalk. They took their time and tiredly drug their feet, the heavy rainfall attempting to wash away the muck and blood staining their skin and clothing. Lady Luck appeared to be on their side for the time being, the familiar buildings of a shopping center a few blocks from Archie’s place surrounding them. Jughead heaved a sigh, releasing the grip he’d had on Archie’s shoulder and gracelessly falling to the floor. Archie scrambled to catch Jughead but ultimately failed, wincing when Jughead slammed into the ground. The other boy scooted over the curb and let his feet lay outstretched in the road, unaffected by the rough landing. Whatever cover they’d had thanks to the canopy of foliage was now gone, the rain quickly soaking through their clothes again. Archie gently lowered himself to the ground beside Jughead and suppressed a shiver, “Dude, c’mon, we’re almost there.” Archie assured and knocked their shoulders together. 

Jughead huffed and closed his eyes. They sat in silence for a moment, Archie letting Jughead be. Archie knew Jughead kept his thoughts to himself, appreciating his right to work alone. “Alright,” Jughead said slowly, sounding like he was debating on whether to say something else or not. Archie wasn’t surprised. There was always something else on the tip of Jughead’s tongue, always words that could be said or left to the dark. “Okay, let’s go.” He said more energetically, grunting as he roughly pushed himself to his feet leaving Archie to sit by the curb alone. It seemed the words this time would be left to the recesses of Jughead’s dark mind. Archie moved to push himself up but looked up to see Jughead holding a hand to him. He smiled, grasping Jughead’s outstretched hand and allowed his friend to help pull him to his feet. 

They continued their journey, their feet aching thanks to the lack of support in their worn out shoes. Jughead shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, wincing at what was probably a burning sting in his arm. Archie’s own arm shared the same pain, his uninjured hand placed loosely in the pocket of his ripped and dirtied Letterman Jacket while his bloodied arm swung lightly at his side. Archie watched Jughead’s back as the noirette walked ahead of him, his mind churning out theories and questions. What was going on with Jughead? Better yet, what was Jughead? Jughead stopped and tilted his head up slightly, the rain running in rivulets down his features and dripping off his chin and hair in thick rapid droplets. Blood mixed with the water sending murky almost transparent lines of rose colored liquid down Jughead’s neck that disappeared under the neckline of his shirt. He seemed so relaxed despite being so hurt and his demeanor made Archie himself feel better. It was nice, being next to Jughead just made life seem a little less harsh and a little more bearable. Them against the world, just like old times. Jughead turned to look at him as he ambled over to the noirette’s side. Even though he was looking into dark symphony blue irises all Archie could see was the image of chilling electric cerulean. 

“You good?” Jughead asked, an eyebrow twitching up in question. It was amazing how disinterested Jughead could appear when it was painfully obvious to Archie that Jughead was worried or upset or really anything but. Archie has always been able to see right through Jughead’s sarcasm and sardonic humor, they’ve known each other too long for Archie to fall for the strong disguises and protective walls. Archie smiled and directed his gaze to the base of a streetlamp a view feet away from them. 

“Yeah, I’m good.” He replied, shrugging his jacket up higher on his shoulders. “We’re almost there and I’m just excited to get out of this rain.” Archie answered this time letting a shiver rack his entire body. Jughead scoffed, a smirk pulling at his lips as he stepped into the amber glow of the streetlight and attempted in vain to shake out his hair. Archie noted how his eyes seemed to haze over, like a film of orange, when the light hit them just right. Like a dog caught in the light of a camera flash. How he’d never seen it through the years of knowing Jughead he wasn’t sure but now that Archie couldn’t stop looking at his eyes, waiting for them to glow, he was noticing more and more. 

“You’re ridiculous Archie Andrews,” Jughead said matter-of-factly, turning to face him again with a rare toothy grin while Archie guiltily waited to see fangs. The grin fell away quickly though, as most signs of amusement tended to do when it came to Jughead, and he asked, “What were you doing out in the woods anyway? You know Jason Blossom’s killer is still out there.” It was almost teasing the way Jughead spoke of Jason. It left a weird feeling simmering in Archie’s chest and a bitter taste in his mouth. It suddenly struck Archie how strange this was, walking home as casually as one could while covered in animal attack wounds with Jughead at his side. The two had barely spoken since earlier that summer, when Archie ditched on their long awaited road trip last minute to go down to Sweet Water River with-- he quickly shook the thought from his mind. The point was he’d left Jughead waiting, the mere thought was leaving a mix of guilt and angry defensiveness brawling in his stomach. His body a battlefield of complex emotions that left him simultaneously nauseated and twitchy. They’d barely even made a stitch in the healing wound that was their tattered friendship, yet here they were, walking back to Archie’s like it was just another planned sleepover after a few hours at Pop’s. 

“Hey, Jug,” Archie said somberly, head hung low while he mulled over his next words carefully. He didn’t want to say something that would make Jughead upset, not when he was trying to help. He knew Jughead. Knew his best friend- ex-best friend?- enough to know that even if he was hurt he’d brush Archie off. Say something sarcastic, or snarky, or just push it aside entirely with a roll of his eyes and a distinctive lack of verbal response. That didn’t mean it was okay, he didn’t want to make Jughead reinforce his walls and shove him away. 

Jughead nudged him, gently knocking their elbows together to get Archie’s attention. Archie sighed, looking up and meeting Jughead’s eyes once again. This time the furthest thing from his mind was the possible azure glow from before. “What’s up Arch?” It almost physically hurt how easily Archie’s shortened nickname rolled off Jughead’s silver tongue. It didn’t even mean anything but it’d been months since he’d even heard Jughead speak, let alone say a childhood diminutive. Even past the stoic expression Archie could see concern in Jughead’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” It was stunning how such few words could hold so much meaning, muttered as a desperate plea drenched in sincerity. I’m sorry for abandoning you. I’m sorry for not trying to fix it. I’m sorry for not telling you what was going on. 

“Me too,” Jughead whispered back, barely heard over the catastrophic symphony created by the rain and wind. His eyes softening and revealing so much that Jughead had kept hidden away. I’m sorry I let you walk away. I’m sorry for not asking about anything. I’m sorry I’ve kept so many secrets. 

They stared each other down for a moment, their gazes glued together as they searched for something to hold onto. The eyes were the window to the soul, or so said so many English teachers to Archie. The eyes expressed so much without ever meaning to, and maybe, just maybe, Archie could find what he was looking for in Jughead’s eyes. But what was he looking for? Did he even know? Maybe it was forgiveness, maybe not, but either way he still saw something in Jughead’s stormy slate irises and whatever it happened to be was worth searching for. 

Jughead kept his eyes locked with Archie’s, the maple orbs shining in the orange glow of the light they stood under. It was the writer in him that was determined to analyze Archie’s appearance in this moment, cataloging it in his mind. The drenched puppy dog look on his face. The soaked locks of ginger hair brushing against flushed, clammy cheeks and hanging low over cognac eyes, the glow of the light muddled by the rain water encompassing the light cover. The gently parted thin pink lips that showed glimpses of white teeth. The heavy, waterlogged cobalt blue and dandelion colored Letterman Jacket thrown over a loose gray t-shirt with a ripped sleeved slathered with crimson stains. His brain committed all of it to memory, never wanting to forget the moment that Archie Andrews apologized for ditching him. For leaving him behind, forcing him to fend for himself. His heart didn’t seem able to decide on whether it wanted to pound rapidly or slow lethargically. Vaguely, he wondered why. 

Jughead broke their stare, looking away and heaving a sigh for what felt like the umpteenth time that night alone. “Archie,” There were so many things he could say. So many things he wanted to say. Things like “thanks” and “I missed you” and “don’t leave again” but instead he just flicked his gaze back to Archie’s, meeting his eyes hesitantly through dark strands of dripping hair and said, “C’mon. We’re almost there. You can get out of the rain.” 

“And we can talk.” Archie said moving to Jughead’s side as they continue the trek back to Archie’s home. It wasn’t a question, but then again Jughead didn’t expect it to be. Why would it be? Words needed to be exchanged between them, and not casual banter like their friendly talks used to be. Serious conversations were never fun, but they were always remembered. Jughead had no problems making a few new memories with Archie before they fell apart again. It’d give him something to hold onto for a little while. Jughead sucked in a soft breath through clenched teeth, glancing to his side and making sure Archie was still watching their feet move in unison rather than taking notice of Jughead’s stressful demeanor. There was something up with him recently, Jughead thoughts always trailing off on more emotional routes when it came down to Archie. Archie had always brought out the best in Jughead; his happier side. Jughead thought it a weakness at first, thinking that Archie would leave him vulnerable and wounded. He had in the end left Jughead wounded, not too long ago either, but now simply walking next to Archie made Jughead feel like the past few months of friendless wandering and trying to survive on his own were just a nightmare. Like everything was worth it and everything he’s been through lead up to spending just a little bit more time with Archie. Archie made most of the horrible thoughts in his head fall away and Jughead has always been eternally grateful for that. 

He scoffed softly to himself and watched Archie walk beside him, painfully exhausted, like nothing had happened between them. Archie was a miracle worker alright, especially if he could make someone like Jughead feel secure for just a little bit.  
Jughead was torn from his thoughts when his feet caught on a bench clearly placed in front of him. He’d been so focused on his thoughts on the miracle of Golden Boy Archie Andrews that he didn’t see the park bench on the sidewalk and in turn didn’t notice how his foot hooked around the leg of said bench until it was too late. He stumbled pathetically, arms flailing in attempt to find anything to keep him upright. Jughead pitched forward and just about accepted his fate when that very same Golden Boy Archie Andrews himself swooped in and saved the day. Archie’s head snapped up at the choked, awkward, surprised noise that ripped itself from Jughead’s throat and immediately when he saw Jughead falling he quite literally leaped closer to catch Jughead in his arms. They ended up in a position where Jughead was crudely slumped against Archie, chest to chest, and Archie’s hands rested on the small of Jughead’s back. Their eyes met again but Jughead was quick to roll his own dark orbs, “Oh, my hero.” He drawled dramatically, pushing himself up and attempting to wipe off imaginary dust. 

Archie shrugged, smiled that charmer’s smile of his, and chuckled “I didn’t know you were so clumsy,” Jughead scowled at him, shoving his hands back into his pockets and biting back a wince at the jarring pain that ripple up his arm. Archie’s eyes shined with mirth as they began walking again, Archie looking away to watch his feet as they shuffled along. The redhead snorted, drawing Jughead’s attention again. He waited for another stupid tease. “I can’t believe you just fell for me.” Archie joked. 

Jughead froze, stopping in his tracks, but Archie didn’t seem to realize and kept walking. Jughead watched Archie’s retreating form, a million thoughts armed with sharp claws and fangs exploding into action in his mind. Instead of mulling over what Archie said and making a big deal out of nothing Jughead tucked it away for later and jogged back to Archie’s side before knocking their shoulders together with a grin. “Shut up Andrews, I could never fall for a jock.” He snarked, chuckling as Archie let out a bark of laughter. 

They shuffled on down the street together, probably looking the part of sad, lost kids trying to find their way home. Jughead, ironically enough, felt like a lost dog. The weight of Jughead’s drenched clothes was beginning to get annoying, much more so than he thought it would’ve. His satchel at his side was both holding weighty technology and a water-logged coat and was pulling at shoulders painfully. The cold was definitely settling in and Jughead decided he was beyond done with the rain. It’s been a long night, one that has inevitably ended in pain and most likely sickness, but it also ended in potentially rekindled brotherhood. Jughead doesn’t know what he would’ve done if he hadn’t heard Archie’s scream from the woods. Archie probably would’ve been mauled and dragged off, the wolf taking whatever prey it could seeing as it had been alone. Wolves are pack animals, they hunt together, and since the wolf was alone it probably didn’t have a pack. A lone wolf. An image of Archie’s limp body being dragged away by the white-furred beast popped up, unwanted, in Jughead’s mind. He quickly tried to shake the image off, his heart rate spiking at the pure thought of what that wolf could have done to either of them. 

Archie suddenly extended his arm. Jughead walked right into Archie’s limb, the breath leaving his lungs at the accidental impact. He turned to Archie and raised a questioning eyebrow. Archie tilted his head in the concerned puppy dog way he was prone to do, “We’re here. What’s on your mind?” Archie asked, using his hand to redirect Jughead towards the Andrews’ driveway. 

“Nothing,” Jughead shrugged, brushing Archie’s hand off his shoulder. The gory image of a brutally clawed Archie appeared in his head again and he briefly shut his eyes and pushed it away. He’d do anything for Archie Andrews, he’s said it before and would say it again. Archie was his best friend, the only person in his life who has stood by him unconditionally… until recently. The idea of Archie gone… 

it was petrifying. 

It was Archie’s turn to raise an eyebrow, looking on with eyes colored in disbelief and offense that Jughead even thought for a second that Archie might have bought that. “You wanna try again?” He asked. 

“I was thinking about the wolf.” Jughead answered plainly with another shrug, hopping up the steps leading up onto Archie’s porch. Fred’s truck was gone from the driveway and the house was silent. “What would’ve happened if I hadn’t heard you, or ya know, hadn’t been able to chase it off.” He confessed in a moment of weakness; the sudden vulnerability the image of a tortured Archie had left encouraging him to spill his thoughts. He could imagine with frightening clarity Archie’s eyes dull and lifeless. His body ripped to shreds with blood soaked through torn bits of fabric, dripping from his lips and copper hair. 

“But you did,” Archie assured softly, gently pushing past Jughead and unlocking the door. He pushed the door open and Jughead fully expected Vegas to pop up and start circling around their legs with a wagging tail in greeting. Instead, they stepped in unbothered. Jughead dropped his bag to floor with a careless thud, mind far away from the computer inside and nodded distractedly to Archie’s comforts. 

“Where’s Vegas?” He asked finally, curiosity getting the best of him. The horrified look on Archie’s face automatically made Jughead’s stomach drop.  
“Shit!” The redhead cursed loudly, startling Jughead. Archie ran a stressed hand through his hair, gaze flicking to the door. “That’s why I was out in the first place, Vegas ran off.” Archie admitted, eyebrows furrowed and eyes panicked. Archie’s stress rolled off him in waves. 

“I can go find him, if you want me to.” Jughead offered before he could even think over his own proposal. He just wanted Archie to relax, the anxiety already rubbing off on Jughead himself. 

Archie gave him a look that clearly read You’re insane, “Are you kidding? Jug, you’re literally bleeding out in my house and you expect me to send you back out there?” Okay, he had a point. They were both leaving questionably sized puddles of scarlet on the floor, but Jughead’s was undoubtedly bigger. No surprise there, but that didn’t stop Jughead from shrugging. “No. I don’t want you to go find him. Jesus Christ, Jughead.” Archie scolded, heading up the stairs and obviously expecting Jughead to follow. The taller teen did, trudging up the stairs and hoping his aching muscles would give out and drop him down the steps. 

He made it to the top quickly, though, and Archie practically dragged him into the bathroom across the hall from Fred’ room and pushed him onto the closed toilet seat. Jughead let his head fall back against the toilet paper cabinet on the toilet cover, eyes closing and breathing balancing out as even as it could possibly get given his current state. He could hear Archie digging around under the sink, dragging out what Jughead could guess to be their first aid kit. He heard Archie open the case, the heavy lid thunking loudly against the sink cabinet. He let his eyes flutter open and watched as Archie began pulling out gauze and liquid bandage and a half-empty bottle of iodine. 

It was when Archie moved to help Jughead with his sluggishly bleeding wounds that the noirette mustered up the strength to stop him. “Take care of yourself first, Andrews.” It’s unsurprising that Archie immediately moved to protest, mouth open and angry words already starting to spill out when Jughead cut him off, “I’m not letting you come anywhere near me when not only could your blood drip into my open wounds, but your hand is so unsteady you’re going to end up stabbing me.” Archie huffed, glaring daggers at Jughead but inevitably shrugging off his destroyed letterman to get a better look at his mutilated arm. Jughead simply saw blood and ripped flesh and let his eyes drift shut once again. He listened with careful ears as Archie worked. Each hitched breath, each wince, the minute grinding of his teeth, the skipping beats of a pained heart; Jughead heard everything with perfect clarity. His stomach twisted at the sounds of pain but he listened on anyway. Any sound was proof that Archie was alive and that’s all that Jughead wanted in this moment. 

“Done.” That was fast. Maybe Jughead had zoned out. Exhaustion was really hitting him hard (like a bus) and even when he opened his eyes he struggled to keep them that way. He was bleeding, hurt, and had worked to fight a wolf twice the size of one of the normally huge beasts. He should cut himself some slack. His eyes, however, snapped open when he felt the burning fire of antiseptic on the frayed flesh of his stomach. His vision brightened and shifted colors as his irises glowed brightly, eyes snapping to a shocked Archie. The redhead held his hands up and leaned back, kneeling next to him on the floor with a bottle held in the hand of his uninjured arm. The smell was overwhelming. “Sorry, sorry.” He apologized, eyes tilting worriedly as Jughead’s hand snapped up to cover his stomach slicked now with a mess of iodine and blood. When the hell had they gotten his shirt off? 

His attention was drawn to the door as it slammed open, Fred’s horrified and worried gaze flicking from Archie to Jughead to the floor covered in smears of scarlet and back again before finally falling on Jughead. Jughead and his brightly glowing eyes. Fuck. Fred stepped into the bathroom, kneeling down onto the bloody tiles, and gave both boys a look tired beyond his years. His eyes are still glinting with fear and worry and Jughead realizes they must have left a trail of blood through the house. Coming home to a sight like that with a murderer out and about… Jughead couldn’t imagine the fear. Guilt stirs in him but he pushes it to the back of his mind as he focuses on the man before him that didn’t seem at all put off by his glowing eyes. Fred took the medical supplies from Archie, checking the awkwardly done wrap on his son’s own arm before turning back to take care of Jughead. As his wipes away the blood on Jughead’s navel- staining everything, everything is red. He’d have to apologize- he speaks. 

“We need to talk.” And that’s probably the scariest thing Jughead’s heard all night.


End file.
